T’was the night before Christmas and there in my kitchen,
the turkey was ready; and boy, was it bitchin’!
It was seasoned and brined and buttered with care,
and ready for dinner once the gang all got there.
We’d celebrate Hanukkah and Kwanzaa and all,
and include all religions, just like the mall.
I’ve sent out the invites and bought all the booze.
They all said they’d be here, even the Jews!
This recipe is new, I’d seen it online.
It got thirty ‘likes,’ so it had to be fine.
I roast at 450 for thirty minutes or so,
to get the skin crisp—then turn it real low.
And leave it alone to keep cookin’ all night.
It was on endlesssimmer so it had to be right!
I popped in the bird and poured a short drink.
I drank it real quick, and that made me think.
What can I do while I’m timing the roast?
That drink was sure good, maybe just one more toast.
Wait thirty minutes, or some other jive?
To help me pass time I’ll take a shot every five!
Fifteen minutes go by and it’s shot number three.
Or does that make five? Now how can this be?
I started with two and then had three more.
What was the time when I started to pour?
I roast it for thirty or some other crap?
Maybe I’d better take just a short nap.
